Picasso
by primitiveLOGIC
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the art prodigy. Well, sort of. Mycroft might have something to say about that.


Mycroft was busy doing his homework (both the written homework that the school had given him, and the homework he had given himself) when he was interrupted by Sherlock, as usual. Sherlock was prone to annoying him with silly little things. Last week he had been bothered with the child's clumsy and crude drawing of a bee. Sherlock had a strange obsession with the things. However, he had strange obsessions with a lot of things. The bee looked more like a government's secret code or something, or a strange possessed... sunflower. A strange possessed sunflower or something. Yes. This, he had told Sherlock. To which Sherlock had replied, "M'coft, don' be mean!"

The child had troubles pronouncing various different sounds, including his Ws, Ys, Ls, and Ss (as well as countless other different sounds and words). Mycroft had been told that this was normal and that he would outgrow it (and that he didn't need surgery because he was not, in fact, brain damaged), but Mycroft had made the mistake of telling Sherlock he sounded like a pirate with his silly pronunciations. Instead of pouting, Sherlock had gotten a big grin on his face, and run off to make an eyepatch, no doubt. Mycroft thought this was fine, until Sherlock kept interrupting him to play Pirates. This was why when Mycroft heard the impatient little knock of a child, he had shouted, "I'm not playing pirates, Sherlock!"

"M' not gonna _ask_ you to p'ay _p'wats,_ Myc! I wan'd ta show you somethin' _'eally cool!_ " Sherlock whined

"Is it another one of your silly drawings?" Mycroft sighed.

"Yeah! Ho'd you n... n..."

"Know?"

"Yeah! How'd you know!" Sherlock grinned, but his "know" sounded more like, "noo" to Mycroft.

"Because you've been showing me your drawings constantly for the past week!" Mycroft complained.

"Mycroft, I can hear you arguing." his mother scolded as she passed through the hallway, carrying laundry. "Just let the child show you his drawings!"

"Yeah, Myc!" Sherlock agreed, excitedly. His mother patted his head and smiled at him, before walking away with the laundry. Mycroft sighed as he scooted his chair away from his desk. He begrudgingly opened the door to have a piece of paper shoved in his face.

"Sherlock!" said Mycroft, his turn to scold. "I can't _see_ it if you push it in my face."

"S'ry Myc." Sherlock said sheepishly. He pushed the paper backwards, and Mycroft leaned down to see it. It was made with crayons and pencil crayons, hardly a masterpiece. It featured a stick figure with curly hair (presumably Sherlock) and then another stick figure with a stick up half mowhawk hair thing going on. This one was presumably Mycroft, which was backed up with the evidence that Sherlock had made this stick figure's body a circle instead of a stick. They were standing on a green hill and Mycroft was holding an umbrella with a scowl on his face. Sherlock was smiling, but not as much as the real one was.

"D'ya like it?" Sherlock grinned. Mycroft would've made a remark about how fat his brother had made him, but it was then that their mother walked past them to get another load of laundry.

"Yes, yes. I love it. I'm going to go back in my room now."

"But it's for _you_ M'coft!" Sherlock whined. Mycroft eyed the crude words drawn on it. "Mycroft and Me". But while writing Mycroft, he had been running out of space, so it really just read "Mycro and Me". Mycroft sighed, and took the picture from him, planning on throwing it away right away, like he planned for all of them. Sherlock was grinning like the idiot he was, even as his big brother shut the door on his face.

Mycroft eyed the portrait one more time. He stashed it in his desk, where all the other ones were, and where all the other ones ended up.

* * *

" _Get out_ of my _bloody flat!_ " scowled Sherlock. Mycroft sighed. The days when he thought that his little brother was annoying because he wanted to play pirates... if one were to succumb to sentiment, then one might say, "the good old days". Mycroft was no such man, so he didn't.

"I've been checking the cameras, and-"

"Yes, you've been spying on me, now _get out._ "

"Mummy's waiting for us at lunch. You haven't been eating."

" _I'm on a case!_ " Sherlock shouted, attempting once more to push his brother out of his quite messy flat.

"No, you aren't. I asked Greg." Mycroft said, blandly. Sherlock gave him a confused look. Mycroft sighed. " _LeStrade._ "

Sherlock returned to his scowl. "Nice to know you and him are on first name basis."

Mycroft only sighed, ignoring the jab. He set his eyes on his brother again, to tell him to go to lunch, but Sherlock read his mind.

"I'm not going to lunch."

"Yes, you are. Or mummy will lasso you there."

"One of the downfalls of being fit, your mummy can lasso you to wherever she wants, _you_ however. That's another story." sighed Sherlock. Mycroft glared.

"I'll send MI5 agents to your flat." Mycroft replied, ignoring his little brother's comment.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Sherlock scoffed. "I've beaten and tricked them for years."

"I am aware." Mycroft sighed, exasperated. Sherlock glared. The two sat in silence. For about two minutes.

"Not going." Sherlock confirmed.

"I'll take your skull." Mycroft replied. Sherlock stared at him. Then he searched his face. Then, finally, he stood and brushed past his brother.

"I'm only coming because John will sue me if MI5 agents show up at our house to take me hostage just because I didn't want to go to lunch. Not because you'll take my skull."

"Touching." Mycroft replied.

"Or Mrs Hudson." Sherlock noted, already out the door. Mycroft sighed, walking slowly behind him as Sherlock's old annoying words hung in the air, although unspoken.

 _"M'coft! Le's p'ay pi'wats!"_

Those really were the days, weren't they? The more recent ones scurried to erase those words.

" _Get out of my bloody flat!"_

Mycroft could only stifle a laugh at the change of heart as he walked out of 221B. _The good old days._

* * *

Sherlock picked at his food. The elder woman noticed, and scowled.

"Sherlock, really." complained his mother. "You're skinny as a stick!"

"Quite the contrast to my elder." Sherlock replied, without thinking. His mother glared. Mycroft sighed. He _was_ currently trying to suppress his hunger.

"Sherlock, _e_ _at!_ " Mrs Holmes demanded. Sherlock mumbled something as he stuck his fork in his mouth. Something rude, no doubt. Their mother didn't even care, as long as he was eating.

The three of them sat in silence. Their father was out and about, doing something ordinary, probably. He often took breaks off of his extraordinary family.

"Do you remember when you used to draw Mycroft pictures?" asked Lydia Holmes, smiling at Sherlock, piercing the silence. Sherlock groaned and dropped his fork so he could bury his head in his hands. Mycroft let a smile pierce his stony look for one moment, as he momentarily chocked on his food.

"I'll take that as a yes." said Lydia, leaning back slightly, pleased at her job at embarrassing her son.

 _"Mother."_ Sherlock said, addressing her by the name she hated. "I'd rather slit my throat than talk about any children or childhoods."

"There's a knife in the kitchen." said Mrs Holmes, waving her son away. Mycroft bit back a grin. Sherlock scooted his chair back and made to get up.

"Oh come on now, it was _adorable._ " said his mother, using the word he hated.

"You're both gits." replied Sherlock.

"Me?" asked Mycroft, picture of innocence. "What did _I_ do?"

Sherlock glared, he was standing now. Then he studied his brother.

"Oh, don't tell me you _kept_ them." he wailed.

"Just a few." replied Mycroft, returning to his food.

"They're all in his desk." Mrs Holmes whispered, loudly. Mycroft wasn't sure if he felt pleased he had made his brother angry, or if he was angry that he'd have to make at least ten backups. Sherlock smiled for the first time at lunch, something to keep him busy. Mycroft whipped out his phone. His mother frowned.

"No phones at the table!"

"I'm sending the pictures to Watson." Mycroft replied.

 _"You_ have _pictures_ of them on your _phone?"_ Sherlock questioned.

"Scanned them because I thought you'd have deleted them by now."

"Thought you would've too." Sherlock bickered.

"Maybe I should send a picture of your little pirate play you forced me to watch when you were seven."

"There's a knife in the kitchen."

"There's a mother right beside you."

"I've a phone and I'm going to hack into _your_ phone." Sherlock replied, whipping out said phone.

"It's protected by MI5-"

"In."

"Sod it."

* * *

 _Don't delete. - MH [7 Attachments]_

 **If you check Mycroft's text, I'll kill you myself. - SH**

 _Tell Sherlock that killing people is against the law. - MH_

John stared at his phone. First, he typed a message out for Sherlock.

 _ **Killing is against the law. - JW**_

 **Like I care. - SH**

Then, he checked Mycroft's message. He most definitely did not regret it, and an unintentional grin creeped onto his face. He'd never let Sherlock live this down.

 **How dare you. - SH**

 _ **It's funny. - JW**_

 **So would your head be in the fridge. - SH**

 _ **I'm calling the yard. - JW**_

 **Why? - SH**

 _ **Specifically Anderson, so he can annoy you/arrest you. - JW**_

 **Would you really send your friend to jail? - SH**

 _ **Would you really**_ _ **pretend to die? - JW**_

 **Whatever. - SH**

 _ **Clever. - JW**_

 **Shut up. - SH**

 _Tell Sherlock that hacking into people's phones is illegal. - MH_

 ** _Sherlock, hacking into phones is illegal. - JW_**

 **Should I care? - SH**

 _ **Yes. - JW**_

Sherlock didn't respond. So, John took the time to transfer the pictures onto all of the memory sticks he could find, and copy as many of them as possible.

* * *

"This is why I don't go out to lunch with my family." Sherlock complained. Now he'd have to both delete the copies from wherever John put his copies _and_ Mycroft's versions.

"You've already burned all of our scrapbooks." Mycroft replied.

"You still owe me for that." their mother scowled. "And we're going to lunch next week. No complaints."

"You won't get any from _me,_ mummy." Mycroft chimed.

"Good choice." smiled Mrs Holmes. Sherlock just slipped away. _This,_ was why he didn't exactly prefer his family, he reminded himself as he stuck a hand in his pocket, while the other was busy tapping at his phone, hacking into as many different phones or laptops as he could at once.

* * *

 ** _~Edited 2016-07-25~_**


End file.
